In His Arms
by Noxid Anamchara
Summary: Carol is taken prisoner by the Governor and questioned about where the prison is. But she'll never give up her family. She'll die before she gives up the one she loves. Caryl
1. Find Me

**Nox**: moose-sketchbook (from Tumblr) has _indirectly _prompted me to write this. Not sure she knows it, but she'll find out soon enough! This one is a lot of just Carol, with Caryl speaking through her. Also, there are things in here that don't connect with the TV Show. I have never been more proud of something since Promise. I hope you all enjoy this, as much as I loved writing it. It was such a joy (I know, the _irony_), and I put so much love into it.

**Warning**: Graphic Torture

_The Walking Dead _belongs to Kirkman and AMC.

* * *

Find Me  


"We're just here to talk," he said calmly, watching her with his one eye. He sat on a chair in front of her, his left leg thrown over his right, hands settled neatly in his lap. He looked clean and neat as if he'd gotten dressed for a special occasion.

She didn't like him. Didn't like his hair, his clean clothes, the way he studied her. She didn't like the way he talked, as if he were some academic of research and she was here for some study.

She didn't like the way his eyes narrowed just the slightest while he continued to stare at her neck.

"I have nothing to say to you," she said, sounding more scared than she had intended. She didn't know what he was capable of, didn't know what this man would do to her. But she could see the possibilities.

Her heart started to pound in her chest.

His lips pursed and he clucked his tongue.

"But we just want to get along," he drawled, spreading his arms wide. "The good people of Woodberry only want to bring your people here, make them welcome, give them a proper home." He sounded so cheerful, so happy; like he really believed that _she_ would believe his words. But she could clearly see the falseness behind them, the mask he put on. He must have been a master at fooling everyone around him.

"And we are the 'good people' now?" she demanded fiercely. His eyes sparkled dangerously, his lip curving up in a smile. He leaned forward in his chair, and she couldn't help that she leaned back in response.

"_I am the good people,_" he murmured, with an authority she'd not heard since Ed had died.

And she knew in that moment that she would never get out of there on her own. That if she didn't do _something _she would seal her fate, forever.

She lunged forward, her intent unclear even to herself. But for some reason, she knew she had _to do it_. She had to fight to get back to the ones she loved. She had to fight for her freedom.

And quicker than she thought possible, he pulled a gun out and had it pointed toward her head, _resting _against her forehead. The cold metal sat heavy on her skin, the sudden weight of it bearing down on her entire being. All it would take is the simple pressure of his finger, and she would be _gone_.

"Really?" he said gently, a hint of a smile clear on his lips, the gun resting heavy on her forehead. She swallowed hard and felt her hands tremble.

She wasn't ready to die. She wasn't ready to leave behind the life she had been given, the people she had grown to love.

She wasn't ready to leave _him _behind.

The door behind him slammed open, making her jerk, and one of his men came in, boots clopping hard against the concrete floor. She grit her teeth as he grabbed her arm and forced her back down to the chair, her back slamming against the wood, and the front legs rising off the ground from the force.

"Bind her hands," the Governor said, holstering his gun and walking away. He turned at the doorway, cocking an eyebrow. She didn't put up a struggle against the man tying her hands, but he still pulled her arms behind her back rougher than he needed too, still pulled the rope tighter than he needed too.

She winced at the way the rope scratched against her skin, rubbed harshly against her wrists. She couldn't move them.

"We'll talk after you've had some time to think."

She didn't like the way he said it, like he had something planned especially for her. Fear gripped her belly tight and she felt her knees go weak. He jerked his head away, signaling his man to take her away.

His large hands closed over her small ones from behind her, and pulled her along. She stumbled backward, tripped and turned on her side. She closed her eyes as the ground rose up to meet her, until an arm snaked around her waist and a growl slipped into her ear from behind her.

"Clumsy broad," her captor snarled. She felt her skin crawl and her heart race. She couldn't catch her breath as she was trapped in this man's hulking frame.

He hauled her over his shoulder like she was a sack of potatoes and carried her out of the room, huffing slightly. She felt vulnerable and exposed.

And the further he took her down the hall, the harder it got to breathe. The light grew dimmer, the smell was starting to suffocate her, and the walls were starting to close in. Then he stopped and she could just see the door around his waist. He drew a key from his pocket and opened it, sucking in a breath as he did. And then he tossed her into the room unceremoniously, and slammed the door in her face, the lock falling back into place.

She fell on her hip, landed on her elbow, felt something jab into her neck. And the _smell_. She couldn't _breathe_, couldn't _think_. It was the smell of-

She jolted upright, the pain of her body forgotten and felt around in the darkness from behind her, warily. Her hands trembled as her fingers grazed over something slightly hard but still pliable beneath her fingers. And then she leaned forward enough to find the graying eyes of a walker head staring back at her with nothing else attached to it.

And she screamed.

She scrambled back, her breathing coming in short bursts, as she kicked at pieces and climbed over the _things _beneath her.

She hit the wall behind her, drawing her knees up to her chest. She couldn't _breathe, _couldn't stop the tears from falling down her face.

Couldn't stop from crying out _his_ name.

"Daryl," she moaned, tamping down his name even as it left her lips. She shouldn't let them know how this would affect her, couldn't let them know that inside she wanted to _break_. But she couldn't. Not if she wanted him to find her, not if she wanted to keep them safe. She felt a sob rip through her, her frame shaking with the effort it took to keep them under control. She was trapped, she was tied up, she was going to be tortured and beaten and _killed_ and she would never get to see his face again.

"Daryl," she whimpered again, and buried her face in her knees. She would never get to tell him all the things she kept hidden deep in her heart.

And would she ever? They hadn't even know the town of Woodbury had existed until they'd run across the Governor and his men. It had then become a matter of keeping the prison's location from prying eyes, and figuring out just where the newcomers had come from.

So how would she be found? How would anyone ever find her when no one knew where to look?

It would take a miracle for someone to find her now. It would take…

She felt something stir within in her; something she had long abandoned since Sophia had been taken from her.

_If you're still there,_ she whispered in her mind, the tears still bleeding down her cheeks, _if you're still willing to listen to me, than please,_ she begged.

_Please help him find me. _

Before it's too late, she thought. Before he kills me. Before I lose the chance to tell him everything I've kept hidden in my heart. Before that _monster _figures out that no matter what he does, I'll never tell him where they are. Where _he _is.

She shuddered out a breath, letting her head fall against the wall behind her, and staring up at ceiling into the darkness, trying to calm her racing heart and catch her breath.

_Please God, help Daryl find me. _

**XXX**

In a rare moment, Rick watched as Daryl sat absolutely still facing the chain-link fence, his shoulders hunched against the early morning chill. The silence between them was different; heavy with the weight of their loss. And the moans of the walkers that surrounded them was eerie and cold; haunting. The gray of the day that was setting in about them did nothing to ease the hurt inside either. They were feeling it deep this time; the loss of one of their own.

He didn't think he'd ever seen the hunter so absorbed before. His eyes never wavered from the metal fence, the line of trees. Rick knew exactly where he was looking; the place where she'd been _taken_. He felt a stab of guilt run through him, like a hot knife. There were so many things they could have done differently to have avoided all this. They should have stayed in pairs. They should have gone when it was lighter. They should have gone when the small herd of walkers had passed.

So many _should have's _and all of it too late.

Nothing could change the fact that Carol had been taken by _The Governor_. A man they knew nothing about, to a place they didn't know where the hell was. She was _gone_. They didn't know if she was alive or dead, human or walker. Had she given up the prison's position to this Governor? Or would she hold out until…

He couldn't even think that.

And now Daryl sat there, looking as if his whole world was crashing down around him. Lost. Empty. As if everything had been drained of all color, all meaning. Rick was certain now that things were different between the two people of his tight-knit group that he considered the most fragile.

He knew that they were always _close_. It only seemed natural that with their similar pasts they should connect on a level that most of the group wouldn't understand. But he never really expected _Daryl_ to become so…so _detached_.

He never expected Daryl to lose himself in the pain of her loss.

He wanted to say something, do something, _anything_. He just didn't know what.

He rubbed the back of his neck, pinched the base of his spine, and ran his hand through his hair. Didn't matter what he said, he couldn't let his friend go through this alone.

"I gotta go," Daryl said suddenly, raising his eyes to meet the sun. Rick didn't say anything, just watched him quietly. The light hit Daryl across the face, a sharp contrast to the grim set of his features.

"I gotta _find _her," he whispered desperately. He turned to look at Rick, his eyes hard. There was a sudden fierce determination in his blue gaze, a hard tension in his shoulders that Rick hadn't seen just moments before. He nodded in agreement, shifting his feet. He'd expected nothing less. Daryl was the best tracker, and if anyone could find Carol it would be him. And Daryl would find Carol, because he could see now that he _needed _to. For whatever reasons he had.

And if anything, because they'd both lost her that day too.

She'd been taken when they were being lazy, overconfident. And they'd tried to find her that first day, but the light had failed them, had failed _Daryl_. There was nothing to track in the blackness, and the walkers had overtaken them.

Rick knew Daryl was beating himself up over it, over _all _of it. And he would do what he could to help his friend.

"We'll find her. I'll get-" he started, but Daryl cut him off before he could finish, shaking his head fast.

"No," he barked, his voice coming out gravelly, standing up, "I'll do this _myself_."

"You'll just slow me down," he added.

He could see that Daryl wasn't going to have it any other way. Could see it in the hard glint to his eyes, and the set of his shoulders. He'd find Carol, on his own, in the way he knew how. He'd track the sonuvabitches who took her, he'd take them down, and he'd bring her _home_.

He'd do that _himself._

And Rick didn't think he could tell Daryl no. Would he have let anyone tell him he couldn't save Lori, if he could have been given the chance?

He clasped Daryl's shoulder firmly, and pulled him just a little bit closer, ducking his head slightly. "You do what you have to," he said lowly, meaningfully. He held Daryl's gaze with his own, let the man know that no matter what, he was on his side. And if he needed to do this alone, then he'd support him on that. He squeezed his shoulder once, and then let him go.

And Daryl nodded his head gratefully, clapping Rick on the shoulder and took off; the crossbow slung across his back, and the leather-winged vest shifting beneath it.

**XXX**

"Fruit is the hardest thing to come by," he said absently, slicing the tomato on a small table that he'd set up in front of her. It was small, but still juicy and bright red. She felt her mouth salivate at the sight, and her stomach growled angrily.

She bit her bottom lip savagely to stop the moan of hunger from escaping her.

She _hated _him. Hated him with everything she knew.

"Of course, certain vegetables can be grown and harvested. If done right," he continued, taking a bite of a slice of the tomato, the juices running down his chin. She licked at her lip, imaging the blood that dripped down her chin to taste of tomatoes instead of iron. She almost gagged.

And she watched as his lips just barely curved up into a smirk. Her hatred for him grew, and she'd never felt like killing a man more than she did him. She could just imagine her knife sliding effortlessly across his neck, splitting open the soft flesh. Daryl had shown her how to do it quickly, efficiently.

She wanted to feel his life drain between her fingers-

He pushed his chair back, the feet screeching across the concrete, interrupting her thoughts. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, sighing heavily.

"You should just tell us where they are," he said finally, rising to his feet and approaching her. The heavy rap of his boots against the floor made her heart jerk in her chest with each resounding echo in the room.

And she felt the panic constrict her.

She strained against the bindings that held her hands behind the chair. The feeling of being held down, of being _trapped _to this one place made her breath run ragged. It was as if there was a weight sitting on her chest and she couldn't breathe. She'd never felt so helpless in her entire life.

He grabbed her chin, firmly and held her gaze with his one eye. She couldn't help but briefly wonder how he had lost the other one.

"If you tell me where it is, I won't kill you."

She didn't think she was very strong, or very brave. And she didn't think she was very good at standing up to men either. Her whole life she'd spent cowering in the shadow of her husband, letting him do whatever he wanted to her.

But that threat did nothing to her. What was her life compared to the others she protected? What was her life compared to _his_? What was herlife _without _his?

She felt the anger rise fast and hard, like one of Ed's slaps to the face, and she spit in his face. There was a moment of glorious retribution as she watched her saliva hit him square in his good eye, and slide down his cheek.

And then his face twisted and he slapped her across the cheek, hard.

She felt the pain reverberate through her cheek, stinging, pulsing. Her eyes watered, and she wanted to cup her hand to her face. But this pain was nothing to what she used to endure.

"My husband used to hit harder than that," she spat out, licking the blood off her lip. She heard the growl, and waited for another hit but nothing came. She looked up and felt the fear crawl up her spine. He watched her, looked her up and down, and then wiped his hands off on the towel, and retreated from the room.

"Take her back," he called, his head cocking to the side as he watched her be lifted from the chair.

"We'll _play _tomorrow," he murmured, and the sick smile on her face sent a chill running across her body, and didn't leave her even as she was sent tumbling into her cell again.

She huddled in her corner, the cleanest place she'd made for herself after she had found the courage to push the bodies, and the parts away from her.

She tried to take deep breathes even as the darkness threatened to overwhelm her.

_Please, _she begged again, as she had been over and over into the darkness, _please. He's the only one who won't give up on me. The only one who would care enough to come searching for me. Please, _she let her head drop against the wall as the exhaustion consumed her, _keep him safe. _

She knew how he might respond to her being captured, knew what he would do to find her. And she didn't want him to die doing it. She wanted to see his face, wanted to feel his calloused fingers brush against her arm, wanted to hear his heart beating in his chest.

She wanted to hear his voice call out her name.

_Please God, keep him safe_. _Just bring him to me. _

**XXX**

He sat on his haunches, staring at the ground. He could see some marksof a trail; the slightest impression of a boot, the snapped twig, the trampled plants.

But it didn't sit right in his stomach. It didn't give him the feeling that he was going toward _her_.

And fuck, he needed to be going in the right direction. Needed to find the sonuvabitch who took her, needed to find her _right now_. He needed to feel her in his hands to know that she were really okay and he'd keep her that way.

"Fuck," he muttered and stood up.

He was doing this sloppy. Rushed, uncoordinated, and goddammit was he tired. But he couldn't sleep. He'd left the prison yesterday and he still hadn't found the right trail, still hadn't found this town, _still _hadn't found Carol.

He grit his teeth, felt his jaw begin to ache at the pressure. None of this would be happening if he would a just kept his damn eye on her in the first place.

"Fuck!" He slammed his fist into the tree at his side, breaking skin. Pain burst through his hand, and down his arm, focusing him.

He needed to focus. If he was going to find her, if he was going to bring her _home, _he had to fucking _focus_.

He backtracked for a while, until he found the place where he had felt it all go wiry. Something about the clearing of trees, and inconspicuous pile of branches piled off to the left, and the now obvious weathered down grass – the trail he _hadn't _taken – suddenly seemed suspicious.

And there it was, there it _fucking was_. The blood, the boots and goddammit – Carol's knife.

He bent to retrieve it, cleverly tucked away in a patch of overgrown weeds.

How many times was he going to find her knife discarded somewhere, out of her hands? How many times was he going to have to find her before he realized it was too late to tell her what was going on inside of him?

He pushed aside the branches and suddenly it was all too easy – for him anyway. They weren't expecting a tracker to come looking behind them, and they must not a been worried about someone with as much fucking fire and vengeance in his gut than him.

He wasn't gonna rest, not until he found her. Not until he looked into her clear blue eyes and he could see that she was okay. Not until he felt her skin on his, and the soft way she would hesitate, for _his _benefit. She was always thinking about him, _always. _

He wouldn't rest until he heard her voice calling his name once again.

And when he stood up, and took off, the feeling in his chest was right.

Like something was pulling him toward her.

**XXX**

She honestly had never expected it to go this far. She should have, but she _didn't_.

All she knew now was that she couldn't see out of her left eye because it had been swollen shut. She couldn't seem to stop thinking about the pulsating pain in her right thigh where he'd pushed the smallest of six sewing needles into her skin, _one. by. one. _

She couldn't even stop the whimper that escaped her as he placed the scorching metal plates directly beneath her feet, burning her.

"Do you feel like talking now?" But she bit her tongue, and let the tears fall heavy down her cheeks. She wouldn't talk, _she wouldn't talk_.

She thrust her chin forward; defiant, strong. She would tell him nothing. She would give him _nothing_.

"You can't hurt me," she said fiercely. "You can't hurt me any more than I've already been hurt." And she felt the pain of all the years of her suffering from Ed strike her hard. She would survive this. She would get through it no matter what. Because she _had _been through more than any one had knew.

She could tell that he was getting impatient. He nodded his head and his man grabbed her by the throat, pulling her upward, cutting off the air to her lungs. She choked, gasped and wanted to clutch at his arm but couldn't.

She could do nothing.

And then the darkness started to creep in at the edges of her vision, and she couldn't stop herself from shaking her body – from trying to buck him away from her.

She didn't want to die like this, not when she'd made it this far.

And then his hand fell away and she dropped to the chair, gasping for air. The legs teetered beneath her and it tipped, falling backward. She fell on her hands, her knuckles bursting in pain. She cried out in surprise, not having nearly enough breath to do so. She knew the skin had been torn from her knuckles, could feel the blood swelling over her skin.

Her unnamed torturer lifted her up by the front of her shirt. She choked on her spit, and tilted to the side almost falling to the floor again. She didn't even feel her feet burning against the metal plates beneath her where they sat.

When she opened her eye, just barely, she found the Governor in her face, watching her closely.

"If you don't tell me where it is, I'll kill _him_," he whispered.

And then she felt the blood drain from her face, the air escaping her again. His face lit up in satisfaction.

"So it's _him_, is it? _He's _the one who'll make you talk." He moved around the room, using the sharp end of his knife to clean his nails. She couldn't focus on him clearly, couldn't see anything straight.

So she didn't see him move closer, his eyes blood-filled. He held the knife to her chest, and pushed.

She winced, the pain flaring out across her skin.

"No," she forced out. It didn't matter what he said. It didn't matter what he thought he could do. He'd never be able to use Daryl against her, much less find him. She watched as the Governor's face fell impassive, and she knew he was trying to gain control of himself.

He pushed the blade down on her skin, drawing blood. She gasped against the pain, the warmth of her blood a sharp contrast to the cold pain that shot through her.

The blade trailed across her collarbone, and over her left arm. And she couldn't stop the scream that burst from her lips, echoing around the room and through her ears.

She was left panting, as if she'd run for miles. It didn't matter how many times he cut her, how many times he tried to bleed it out of her. She would say _nothing_.

"It doesn't matter what you do," she murmured, her breath catching in her throat. "You won't win." He laughed at her, and tapped the blade against her cheek.

"And why is that?" he asked, seeming genuinely curious. And she drew a deep breath, pulling deep from a place she hadn't touched in _months_.

"_He threw him into the Abyss, and locked and sealed it over him, to keep him from deceiving the nations anymore until the thousand years were ended._" His brow went up, and this time his laughter started out slow, and built up before he was laughing manically. His _companion_ started laughing as well.

"So I'm the Devil, am I?" He scoffed, and grabbed her jaw, bringing his face right up to hers and squeezing it tight between his fingers.

"God isn't going to save you!" he said, louder than he'd ever been before, his pupil dilating. She could see a vein pulsing across his temple.

"No, he isn't," she agreed softly, and looked up to meet his eye, feeling her strength and her courage fill her one last time, "but he will send me an angel."

And she watched as the anger, and the hatred, and the _evil _consumed him.

She didn't stop screaming, even when she had been taken back to her cell.

**XXX**

She wanted to sleep. She wanted something to drink, wanted something to eat, wanted a warm blanked to wrap herself in. She wanted the comfort of her own home. She wanted the comfort of her family around her, and the feeling of safety. She wanted the pain to _go away_. She wanted to know what it was like to feel whole again.

She wanted to see _him _again. She wanted to turn around and see those familiar sharp blue eyes staring back at her; untethered, and unashamed. They were just getting to a place where he wasn't afraid to _see _her. She was beginning to see that there was something between them that was more than just friendly smiles, and casual touches. She was starting to remember was it was like to _want_ again.

To feel that slow fire burn in the pit of her stomach and the need of something greater consume her.

And she wanted _him. _

A whimper escaped her, at the feeling of loss that gripped her. She wasn't going to get anything. Not here, in this godforsaken place. Where the light couldn't reach her, and the air sat stale in her lungs. Where the smell of death was heavy, and she'd grown numb to the bodies pushed against her.

The _dead _bodies. The bodies of people she didn't know, of walkers, of pieces. Hands and legs and arms and heads. Pieces that belonged in places she couldn't identify. Bones, and flesh, and tendons that had started to decay and _rot_.

She was festering in a room that she couldn't escape from.

She felt so _alone_.

She curled her knees to her chest as the darkness swallowed up everything around her. She couldn't see anything, but for the sliver of light breaking through the crack under the door. She couldn't stop staring at it, like it was a beacon of hope. Like it was the only thing that could keep her going. It _had _to be the only thing keeping her going, when all this darkness and misery surrounded her.

But it _wasn't_.

"_Please find me,_" she whispered, the words catching in her throat. It was the first time she'd said them aloud. She'd said them, time and again, like a mantra in her mind. A ward against the darkness. The warmth against the cold.

A _prayer. _

She couldn't remember the last time she had prayed. Prayed to _God_. She'd given up hope, _faith_ in the being who had taken away her daughter. And now, she wanted him to bring the only man she had ever cared for with all of her heart, to her now.

That was the only thing she could focus on now. When the doors opened, and they came in to get her, the light blinding her; she closed her eyes to _his _face.

_Let him find me._

When the Governor questioned her about where the prison was, or how many of them there were, or what kind of people they were; she heard only _his _voice.

_Keep him safe._

When the pain became too unbearable, and she couldn't scream any longer because her voice had gone hoarse she thought of _his _fingers caressing her.

_Guide him to me. _

_He _was the only thing keeping her going. The only thing that helped her resist the torture, and the pain, and the _hurt_. He was the only thing she could see now as the darkness consumed her.

"Please God," she begged hoarsely, for the thirteenth time that hour, to a being she'd once thought she'd given up on. "_Please let him find me."_

She wanted to be found. She wanted to be saved. She wanted to feel his arms wrap around her, to take away the pain, to take her away, to take away _everything_. She wanted to feel safe.

And she knew that could only happen in his arms.

**XXX**

He was moving fast now. Fast enough to be making headway. He didn't need to look any further than a few feet in front of him to see where they'd gone. They'd gotten sloppy. And they sure as hell weren't in no town. He could tell that simply from the way the trail was looking. He was headed somewhere secluded; somewhere where the trees grew so thick you wouldn't even know you could go through them.

But _he _knew how to find them.

And all he could feel was this light-headed, giddiness. This assured feeling in his gut. He knew how to do this. This was what he'd been born to do, _raised_ to do. All his life he was made to be one thing. And maybe, this was it.

_He was going to find her_.

He needed too.

That was it. The indescribable _need_ that he couldn't define or control. Nor did he want too.

All he knew was that Carol needed him, and he needed to find her.

And that need urged his legs faster, taking him farther than he ever knew they could.

He didn't think his heart had ever felt so heavy in his chest before, and he wasn't sure it would lift until he had her in his arms.

**XXX**

She slouched in the chair, unable to hold herself up any longer. She was tired. Tired of fighting, tired of hurting, tired of suffering at the hands of a man who felt for nothing.

"You've held out longer than I expected." He carried on like this was any normal conversation and he hadn't carved into her skin just yesterday, had his man beat her and torture her.

She didn't really care anymore. She just wanted to go home. She just wanted to see _Daryl_.

"And I'm getting tired of it." Her cheek twitched, and she tried to raise her head to look up. Something in his words made her wary.

He went around her chair, behind her, and she felt the hair on her neck stand on end. She swallowed hard, and clenched her hands together. She would get through this. She would _survive_, for him.

He pushed his fingers along her shoulder and the scream slipped out of slow, and pitiful. He ran his finger down her back, trailing along the wound he'd given her yesterday.

"This is the last time," he whispered in her ear suddenly. But she couldn't care. The pain as he dug his fingers into her back was excruciating and then he switched to the other side.

"I won't ever tell you," she spat out. "There are worse things in the world then suffering by your hands. Worse things that dying at your hands." It hurt, it hurt like nothing she'd ever felt. She just wanted it all to stop. She just wanted to feel nothing.

But she wouldn't give in to him. He was just another man. He was nothing different than any other _asshole _who thought he could make people bend to his will by pain, and suffering, and torture. If he thought he could get her to do anything by making her hurt, he was _wrong_.

"The world used to be full of men like you," she said finally, as she lifted her chin. And he dug his fingers into her back, harder.

She whimpered, and moaned as the pain echoed out across her skin, and her muscle and the blood trickled down her back.

"You think I haven't faced pain before?" she said softly, blood trickling down her chin from where she had bit it.

"I think you haven't faced _this _pain before," he said softly, threateningly.

What mattered was her family, waiting back in the safety of those prison walls. Walls that were only safe as long as she didn't say anything. What mattered was that Rick come back from the pit of grief he was spiraling into because of the death of Lori. What mattered was that Judith survived through this harsh, unforgiving world of theirs.

What mattered was that Daryl knew he was loved, even if everyone else told him otherwise. Because all that mattered was that _she _loved him.

"Pain is nothing," she whispered, and she felt his hands clench against her back, "but family is everything." The silence that followed was like nothing she had heard from him before, and for some reason, she felt like he knew exactly what she meant.

And that unnerved her.

But then it was gone, and his hands were falling away from her.

"Let's see what your angel thinks of _your _wings," he mocked, and walked away, leaving her slumped in the chair, wheezing.

_Please God. _

"Daryl," she whispered.

_Find me._

**XXX**

She lay huddled in the corner, the pieces of the dead bodies her only comfort in the dark. She was beginning to feel like time didn't exist anymore, and the pain didn't exist anymore.

All she had were the pieces of what was left of humanity here beside her.

"Where are you Daryl?" she murmured, curling onto her side, her head pillowed on something. She didn't know what it was, and she didn't care.

"Are you coming for me?" She had to continue to have hope that he would come for her. She had to have _faith_.

_Please God._

She couldn't talk anymore. Her throat hurt, and it was too hard to breathe.

_Please, just bring him to me safely. If he tries to find me, just don't let him get hurt doing so. _

She felt her heart tremble at the thought of Daryl.

_And if he doesn't come…_

She let the thought trail off, thinking about it. If he didn't come for her she would die. If he didn't come, then everyone would still be safe. And that was all that really mattered.

_If he doesn't come, just let him know that I never blamed him. Let him know that I loved him. _

She shuddered out a breath, feeling like she had done everything right. She felt her bones settle, felt her muscles relax knowing that the Governor would never find the people she loved.

She closed her eyes, and wished for sleep.

But she couldn't sleep. She could suddenly hear the _pop pop _of something going on outside, somewhere around her. She could barely hear it but for her clogged ears. Everything was muffled from the pain.

She didn't know what to do, or what was going on. She didn't know if she should be scared.

It wouldn't matter. The sounds faded to nothing, and the silence invaded again.

And she let her head fall back down. But she couldn't sleep now, and she couldn't stop staring at the door; at the sliver of light that tortured her with its false hope.

_God, please,_ she begged, one last time. Because she was sure that was all she had now. One last time.

_Please bring him safely to me. Please keep him safe. _

And then she did something more selfish than she had in a long time. She prayed for what _she _wanted.

_Please, give me the chance to see him. Give me the chance to tell him the things I never have._

She felt her heart grow heavy with the weight of her feelings.

_Don't make us suffer any more than we already have. We deserve to love now. We deserve to love_ each other_. _

And then she heard the pounding of feet coming fast toward her door. She could feel the fear consuming her, and the panic. She could only see the end of the road now.

_Please God_-

And then the door burst open, bringing the blinding light with it. She could hear shuffling, a grunt.

"The hell?" She felt her heart jump into her throat, and she forced her eyes open against the light. And she saw him.

_Daryl_.

He stood there, in the doorway, crossbow hanging at his side. He was scanning the room, but he didn't come in. He looked confused, and then glanced away. She felt panic strike her hard. Did he not see her?

"Daryl?" she croaked out, trying to get up, trying to _get up_. He turned back to the room, squinting into the darkness harder, and when his eyes finally landed on her she saw the shock, and the anger, and the _hatred_ etch across his features. And before she could blink he was at her side, his hands running over her.

She couldn't _breathe_. He was here. He was _here_. He was touching her; those were his hands. And he was talking to her; that was his voice. Daryl was _here_. He had come for _her_.

"Carol – fuck – _how_ –" he stammered incoherently, and she couldn't stop the sob that slipped passed her lips. He reached behind her back, and felt the bonds at her hands. His knife was there immediately cutting them away, and then she was being lifted away, _in his arms_.

She felt her chest constrict, and everything crashed into her.

The pain.

The suffering.

The _waiting_.

She realized that none of it mattered because right then, in that moment, she was in his arms. She could feel his heart beating fast against her chest, and his breath hitting her cheek in ragged puffs. And his arms held her tight against him, like he was never going to let her go.

"I ain't never lettin' you outta my sight again," he said harshly, as he moved quickly through the hall. She could hear the pain in his voice, and the way it caught at the end. He'd feared for her.

"_Never_."

He stepped outside, into the light of the day and when the light of the sun hit her face and his, lighting up the blue of his eyes, she had never wanted to thank God so much for this man.

But she just reached up, shakily, wrapping her arm around his neck to pull herself up to his face where she ran her cheek against his. The feel of his stubble scratching her, the warmth of his skin sending the tears down her cheeks anew.

She trembled in his arms. She had asked, had begged, had _prayed_ for Daryl to find her, safely, and here he was. Holding her, in his arms.

Her lips brushed against his cheek, and then his ear, and then down to his neck where she let them linger. She buried her face there, letting her heart find time with the pulse of his blood.

And she had never felt more _alive_ than now, had never felt more _love_ than she did now.

"Never," she murmured fiercely, clutching her fingers in the leather at his neck. And his arms pulled her tighter against him, as the breath shuddered out of him and caressed her arm.

And with the sun shining down on them, and his heart beating fast against her, and the feeling of being safe filling her whole; she didn't want to be anywhere but _in his arms_.

* * *

**A/N**: I hope I have made you feel. I hope I have craved a need. If you'd leave a few words behind, before you go, I would love you.


	2. Wake Up

**Nox: **The amount of _love _I have received for this story is _incredible_. **You** guys are incredible. I seriously never thought it would be received with such open arms, and then loved so dearly. I'm stunned. I sincerely hope that this chapter will move you in more ways than the first one did. Also, be a doll and **read my Author Note below **before you leave.

**To my anon reviewers**: **Jenn: **I hope you didn't get hurt. I know how much shit I have in my attic…haha.

**Guest: **It is a great achievement to have made you cry.** Thank you both so much for reviewing. **

_The Walking Dead _belongs to Kirkman and AMC.

* * *

Wake Up

"It's time," he said, pulling her up to her feet, gripping her arm tightly.

"Wha-what's going-" He jerked her forward causing her to stumble and cutting off her question.

"Don't worry dear," he soothed, not bothering to look at her. He had to drag her down the hall now, because she couldn't get her feet back under her. "I've brought you something _special_."

She didn't like the way her chest seized up, or the way she suddenly couldn't breathe. Something wasn't right.

This was all _wrong_.

He tossed her through the doorway into the chamber where he'd tortured her and she couldn't stop herself from falling to the ground and rolling. She winced at the pain that shot up her back, and across her hip. Those wounds were still fresh, still _painful_.

"Carol-"

Her heart jumped and she turned to her side, her eyes seeking out the voice that had called out her name. And then she cried out, attempting to crawl to him.

"_Daryl!_" She felt a boot slam down on her legs, and she curled up, crying out from the pain.

"Fuck you!" She could hear Daryl thrashing above her, trying to escape from his captors.

"Goddamn you, ya fuckin' sonuvab-" his words were cut off as he was punched. She looked up in time to see him double over, his arms held tightly behind his back. He looked up wearily, from under the tangle of his hair, and caught hold of her gaze.

She stifled a cry.

"Daryl," she murmured, holding those blue eyes with her own. How she'd wanted to see them so badly, and now? Now she would give anything to never see them _here_. He looked so afraid, and angry.

He looked ready to _kill_.

"I'm gonna give you one last chance," he announced, coming between them and pulling out his gun. He aimed it right at Daryl's chest.

"NO!" She rose to her knees, but felt a hand grab at her hair pulling her back. She cried out, clutching at the wrists that held her tightly. She had to make a choice.

A _goddamn _choice. Because this is what she'd asked for wasn't it? She'd asked _God_ to bring the only man she had ever loved to this place, and she had put him in this position and it was _all her fault_.

And now she had to choose.

"His life for the prison," the Governor declared.

She felt her heart breaking in her chest as she watched Daryl shake his head vehemently, thrashing against the arms that held him.

"Don't you fuckin' do it! Don't you do it Carol!" His blue eyes held hers, boring down into her. She couldn't stop staring at him, couldn't stop from memorizing his face. His shadowed eyes, and the way he pursed his lips when he was thinking. The tiny scar on his left cheek, or the crow's feet around his eyes. She knew he could smile. She _loved _that smile; the way it would light up his face and change everything about him. He was the one thing she'd come to love like life itself in this wretched world.

And now she had to choose? Between him and everyone else at the prison? She had to make a choose between one life, and the lives of all the others?

She couldn't stop the tears from falling down her face, or from falling to her hands as she was released.

There _wasn't _a choice though. Damn her to hell, but there _wasn't a choice_.

"Don't you do it," he begged, the fight suddenly gone from his voice. It was as if he knew exactly what she had already chosen. "_Don't_."

She looked up into his face once more, and knew that no matter what the consequences were, no matter who would die, no matter what he would think of her in the end; she would choose him. She would _always _choose him. And she didn't care if that made her a bad person, she didn't care if it tore her apart for years to come, spinning in the darkness of her guilt, and she didn't care if she went to hell for it.

All that mattered was that Daryl lived. All that had _ever _mattered was Daryl.

"I ain't worth it," he begged one last time, seeking out her eyes, voice catching at the end. She shook her head softly, like she was sorry for what she was about to do, biting her lip.

And it was just like him to see that he wasn't.

"But you _are_," she said fiercely, fighting back the sobs. She heard the Governor cock the gun, and push it against his chest. She stood up, raising her hands in surrender.

"It's south of here," she blurt out, feeling the floor give out beneath her. The way his face just crumbled, the way he just gave up made her cry harder. She had never wanted to disappoint him, but she didn't want to lose him either. And if it came down to choosing his life over _anything_, she would choose him every – single – time.

"Three miles," she choked out, her hands shaking. "Three miles south," she muttered again. She sought out the Governor's eye, pleading with him.

"Please don't," she whispered, taking a hesitant step forward. She wasn't sure that the Governor wouldn't kill Daryl, but the only chance that he wouldn't was to tell him what he wanted. She wasn't going to lose Daryl because she'd not given him that. "Not _him_," she pleaded. The Governor watched her for a moment, like he was thinking about something as he looked her up and down.

And then he smiled.

She felt something inside of her twist, and she looked at Daryl's face. The nausea was rising in her throat, and she wanted to wrap her arms around him; to feel him close against her, alive and safe. She _needed _that.

"Thank you dear," he said kindly. And for a moment, she was relieved though she wasn't sure why.

_Bang_

She flinched, her hands covering her ears as she watched in horror as Daryl's body jerked and then fell to the floor.

She watched as he convulsed, the blood pooling in his mouth. And then she screamed, the silence deafening her ears.

She ran toward his body, and fell over him; her hands running over his shoulders, his chest, and then his face. She couldn't breathe as she choked on her tears. She pulled him into her lap, gently, and sucked in a breath. The bullet had gone through the center of his chest, and there was nothing that _anyone _could have done for him. Even she could see that.

And she could see now that no matter what she had said or done, the Governor had always been planning to do this. She was so _stupid_.

"When he reanimates," the Governor said from behind her, "put a bullet in his head."

She sobbed hard, and pulled his head against her chest. He choked on the blood in his mouth.

"Daryl," she murmured, rocking their bodies, "I'm so _sorry_." Sorry she had given away everyone they loved. Sorry that she had forfeited his life for nothing. Sorry she had ever brought this upon him.

"Shouldn'ta…" he gagged on the blood, and spit it out to the side. She pushed down on the wound on his chest, futilely trying to staunch the blood. "…said nothin'." She nodded her head, the tears cascading down her cheeks, falling onto his face. He would never know just how sorry she was, but it was pointless to tell him.

He reached up to brush away her tears with his bloody fingers, shaking his head just barely.

"Don't," he murmured. She bit her lip to stop the tears, but it wouldn't matter. She had done this. She had brought this one him, on herself, on _them_.

After all that she had done, she had _still _failed. She had failed _everyone_.

"Daryl," she whispered, leaning down to his face and caressing the side of his cheek softly. His eyes flickered briefly, the only movement she received from him. She felt her heart stop, the moments slipping away from her faster.

"_Don't leave_," she said, touching their foreheads together, clutching at his jacket, closing her eyes tight together. His breath rushed out haggard, mixing with hers.

She could feel his body sagging heavier in her arms, his breath getting slower. She opened her eyes, unable to breathe, and found his blue eyes staring back at hers.

"I-" He blinked slowly, and wrapped his fingers around her wrist, weakly. He looked down at her lips, and then back up at her eyes, the light fading from his so _fast_. And then he raised his head up towards hers, just barely.

She couldn't stop the tears from spilling over, as she leaned down carefully to press her lips gently to his.

It should have been a moment that captured her soul.

His lips pressed softly against hers, warm and inviting as his facial hair scratched at her cheek. The sun should have been shining down on them, and his hand should have been holding onto her wrist tentatively, like he was scared to let go of her.

But he was lying in her lap in a dark room where the sun never reached her, and his lips were already cold as his blood coated her cheek. And his fingers grasped at her wrist with every last bit of strength he had left.

And then, they slipped from her skin, falling to the floor as the breath shuddered out of him.

She cried, and pulled his body closer to hers with her legs, his body heavier than it had been before.

He was dead. His heart didn't beat in his chest. He lay limp in her arms. His blue eyes were closed, _forever_, to the world around him. _He was dead_.

"I love you," she murmured into his ear, burying her face into his neck. She didn't care what happened next. Didn't care if he woke as a walker and bit into her flesh and tore her to pieces. None of it mattered anymore, because he was never going to look at her again with those clear, blue eyes of his. He would never hold her with that hesitant, tentative grasp again.

She would never know the feel of those soft, unsure lips against hers again.

"_I love you_," she whispered, and had never wanted anything more than to fade away into the darkness.

**XXX**

He sat hunched against a tree, eyes raised to the sky, breath labored. The sun was setting and the stars were just starting to shine through the on-coming darkness. He could hear a rumbling in the distance, and feel the static in the air. His shoulder ached something fierce. Storm was comin', and he didn't like that.

Hell, he didn't want to admit it but he was fuckin' scared. He'd wanted to make better time than he was, and now the darkness was closing in on him; slowing him down, making it hard to see _anything_.

And he was scared coz he wanted to be back, in the safety of the prison. He needed to get her _home_.

A shuddering breath beneath him brought him out of his thoughts, and he reflexively curled his arms tighter around the body nestled in close to his chest.

_Carol_.

His chest tightened at the way she worried her bottom lip, even in unconsciousness. He reached up hesitantly, so afraid to do anything but hold her as he carefully, _gently_ cupped her cheek in his palm.

His hand shook against her face, and he worried she would wake but at the same time hoped she would. He wanted to see her blue eyes, hear her voice again. He wanted to know if she was _okay_; needed to know that she was. He couldn't stand waitin' for her eyes to open, to see those shining blues. It was like an itch he couldn't scratch.

And she'd been out-cold for a _long _time. Even when he'd slid down a bad rocky slope, something he'd missed in his rush to find the hideout, and he jerked, and bumped and he'd clutched her body so tight against his he didn't know where she began and he ended; she still didn't stir.

And that fuckin' worried him.

He couldn't stop his eyes from checking over every inch of her _again_, just like he'd done the first time he'd gotten a good first look at her.

And he couldn't stop the anger, and the hatred, and the fuckin' _guilt _that consumed him.

Her left eye was swollen, bruised. He knew what he felt along her back, and he was both nervous and pissed as hell to see what was really there. And her feet – he couldn't even look at her feet without wanting to turn right back around and hunt down the fuckin' Governor and cut his fuckin' throat open.

She wouldn't be able to walk for _days_.

And all a that was his fuckin' fault. If he'd a just kept his damn eyes on her, then none a this would a happened. If he'd a just kept her _close_ then she'd still be at the prison, takin' care of Judith, worryin' over him not eatin', worryin' over Rick not sleepin'.

She'd be _safe_.

He wouldn't be sittin' here, hopin' to fuckin' God that she'd wake up; that she'd survive the shit that had been done to her.

She'd be _safe. _

She shivered in his arms, and worried her bruised, bloodied lip. He couldn't stop himself; he reached up with his thumb and pulled her lip free from between her teeth.

He wiped at the blood there, softly, and froze as a small whimper escaped her, and tears slipped passed her closed lids.

"Daryl," she whispered, suddenly clutching at his jacket lapel. He jerked his hand back, the warmth of her breath rushing across his skin unexpectedly. His jaw clenched tighter as he watched her face twist in pain. He didn't even know what she might have been reliving. Didn't think he wanted to know.

"Don't leave…" she breathed out, trembling; curling into him, closer than he'd ever imagined her to be. There was a part of him that trembled at the closeness of her, at the way her body just _fit _neatly into his. That was a closeness he'd avoided his whole life. Never had anyone been this close without doin' him harm, without makin' him hurt; inside _and _out.

But Carol had always managed to get close, _so close_, and just make it feel like it was okay. If he admitted it, she always made him want to pull her closer, to know what it would feel like to have her body against his. She always looked like she would fit right in his arms. As if she was supposed to be there, all along.

And he wanted to know if his heart could handle lettin' her in. If he could be the man she had always thought he was; a man of _honor_.

That shit scared him more than he wanted to admit, more than he wanted to know. And this sure as hell wasn't how he wanted to do it. But right then, all he wanted was to keep her as close as he could no matter how far he may a wanted to run from the feelings inside a him. He wasn't gonna let her go this time. He'd keep her fuckin' close.

He dropped his head, resting his forehead against hers, and closed his eyes; breath exhaling and mingling with hers.

He wanted her to wake up so that he could tell her just how glad he was that she was _safe_. That was all he wanted. He just wanted her to know.

"Wake up," he murmured, pulling her close, her face resting in the crook of his neck.

"_Wake up_."

**XXX**

He ran. He ran until he couldn't run anymore as her body bounced against his. And then, he fuckin' ran some more.

His lungs burned, and his legs ached, and his _chest_ hurt.

That was the pain he couldn't comprehend. The one that made everything lose its color. And he didn't know what the fuck to do about it.

So he just ran.

That was what he was good at. Runnin'. Running from everything. When the ol' man was beatin' him, _cuttin' _him up, and calling him things he still couldn't get out of his head to this day – he ran. When his Ma had watched it all happen, when she'd tried to act like she was just a victim as well, when he watched that house fuckin' burn – he fuckin' ran.

And when Merle had left him each and every time for whatever fuckin' reason; their ol' man, the Marines, the drugs – he ran.

He never let nothin' hold him back. When shit got to be too much, he ran. When he didn't want to face something he knew would make him uncomfortable, he ran. When he knew it would _hurt _more than he'd want to bear, he ran.

He wanted to run away now. Carol was hurt, Carol was broken in his arms, and there weren't nothin' he could do about that. If wanted to, he could blame himself for it even. But he couldn't do that either. Carol needed him, and all he had in him was to run – run towards home and the only people who could save her now.

And he couldn't leave her – wouldn't. He wouldn't just walk away from the only woman who'd ever cared for him like he was worth more than life itself. He'd never had nothin' like that before; never had nobody who cared like _their _life weren't worth nothin' compared to his. His whole life people had been treatin' him like he was the shit beneath their feet. His whole life people had been tellin' him that nobody would ever _care_.

And here, in his arms, was a woman who had done the only thing that his ol' man had ever said the no one would ever do – _care_. She cared even after he cussed and yelled, and almost hit her. She cared even after she saw the scars on his back, the _things_ that forever told the world how _weak _he had been. She cared even after he _didn't _bring her daughter home. She cared even after they'd spent all winter long, curled together by the fires, and he never _once_ responded to her small, subtle advances.

She fuckin' _cared_.

And goddammit if he didn't care too. He just didn't know how to show it like she did. He didn't know how to respond. Didn't know if he had the courage to be the man she wanted. Didn't know if he _was _that kind of man.

What if he turned out just to be like his ol' fuckin' man? What if he hurt the only woman in the world who had never turned him away, even when she _should_ _have? _

He glanced down at her, taking in her swollen face and the cuts. Behind that was the softness in her mouth, and the laugh lines around her eyes. He had never wanted more in that moment than to see her smiling.

As the rain pounded against his back, and ran into his eyes blurring his vision a chill went through him. When he felt a shiver crawl over his skin, and he knew he was cold, he curled Carol tighter to his chest. Because if _he _was cold, he didn't want to think about what she felt.

But he didn't want to stop again. He was afraid that if he did, they would never make it back in time.

And he wasn't going to lose her. Not again.

He felt his foot slip, and suddenly he was falling. He turned his hips, curling his body around Carol's protectively and grunted as fell to the ground, into the mud. A sharp pain ran up his side, and his thigh, causing him to gasp out.

And for a moment, he just laid there with her body heavy on his. He looked up into the canopy of the trees, and listened to her ragged breathing in his ear as the rain fell into his eyes and the mud coated his cheek.

_The feel of her lips against his cheek sent his heart thundering in his chest. And then her lips were on his ear and something he'd never felt before ghosted through him. A longing he'd never known he was capable of._

_But it was the feel of her lips on his _neck _that set his skin on fire, and the way she buried her face into his neck like she wanted to get underneath his skin. _

His _skin; the very thing he hated. The very thing that would always show everyone just how fuckin' weak he was. The one thing he was truly _ashamed _of. _

_His ol' man had made sure that he would be scarred forever; that anyone who looked at him would know that he was _nothin'_. But Carol? _

"_Never," she whispered harshly against his neck, gripping his collar tightly, as her other hand came up around his waist and gripped the back of his vest just as tight; her fingers curling over the wings on his vest. _

_Carol had never once judged him for those scars. Had never looked at him with pity or with sadness. She'd never been _afraid_ to look at him with nothing but the quiet look of understanding in her eyes and know that he was nothing but a man. And he'd never been able to shake her since. _

_He felt the breath rush out of him, and he pulled her in tight, burying his face in her shoulder. She smelled like death, and the rot of the walkers, but she was still there; the lingering scent of soap and sunshine. _

"_I'm gonna take you home," he murmured against her skin. _

_He felt her start to shake, and he panicked for a moment. He pulled away quickly; looking down at her thinking he'd done something to hurt her. _

"_What the hell's wrong?" She shook her head, just barely, and her hair tickled his neck. She didn't look up at him as she spoke, just kept her face tucked into his neck. _

"_You called it home," she said softly, her voice hoarse, her lips moving against his skin. An electric tingle went down his skin, and sent his heart galloping in his chest. She moved her head to look down, and she placed her palm over his heart, closing her eyes on a sigh. _

_He swallowed hard. _

"_Yeah," he said roughly, adjusting his grip on her, pulling her up higher in his arms. This person, this _woman_, who had invaded his heart, who had made him feel like he was worth everything and more; who had _faith _in him – he wasn't _ever_ letting her go. "That's what ya said it was, didn't ya?" _

_He felt warm tears fall across his skin, and she just laid her head on his chest, with her ear pressed to his heart. _

"_Yes," she murmured softly, "yes." _

Her face was pressed into his neck now, her lips against his skin lighting it on fire. He needed to get up. He needed to get them _home_. He couldn't just sit here, in the cold rain, and wait for them to die.

"_Daryl_," she croaked, her breath washing over his skin, the warmth a sharp contrast to the cold rain. His arms constricted around her, pulling her closer.

He had to get up, he had to _get up_.

He had to keep goin'. If he didn't, he didn't know what would come next. Didn't know if he'd keep goin' neither.

There was somethin' inside a him, somethin' _dark_ that wanted to turn around and hunt the Governor down and find him.

Find him and tear him to pieces, and cut him down. He wanted to burn him. He wanted to feed him to the walkers. He wanted to cut off his fingers one by one. He wanted to burn his feet like he'd done to Carol. He wanted to cut out his other eye, and watch him bleed. He wanted to beat him _down _until there was nothing left of him.

He wanted to _kill _him.

But he couldn't go back. He had to keep goin'. He had to keep goin' for Carol.

He sat up, shook the rain and hair out of his eyes, and pulled himself to his feet, clutching to Carol's body tightly. He struggled for a moment, between standing and crouching, as her body weighed down on his, and the rain started to fall harder.

And then he dug deep; Carol kissing him on the head, because he'd gone looking for Sophia. She hadn't even given a second glance to his scars then. Carol seeking him out after he'd separated himself from the group. She'd been the only one then. Carol's hands on his hips as she rode with him on the bike. He had only ever felt comfortable with her behind him. Carol between his arms as he taught her to shoot and her smile as she hit her first target. He'd been so fuckin' _proud _of her. Carol's tense shoulder as he rubbed it. Carol's bright smile as she teased him endlessly. Carol looking at him in that way he learned she kept _just_ for him.

_Carol_.

He got his legs underneath him and pushed himself up with everything he had, and once he was standing he started to walk.

And once he was walking, he was running.

He was running for home.

**XXX**

"Rick!" He stumbled, crashing to his knees at the foot of the gate. He didn't know how, or why, but he wasn't gonna think about it – there weren't any walkers near the opening and he was just fuckin' grateful for small mercies.

"RICK!" He waited, trying to catch his breath, knowing he'd called the walkers to his position, hoping to fuckin' god that somebody heard him.

He laid Carol to the ground, but never took his arms from around her. He hunched over her body, and felt the exhaustion hit him as he rested his head on hers. He was coated in mud, and he was soaked to the bone. He was cold and he was tired and he was just fuckin' glad that he'd made it – he'd made it in one goddamn piece.

He was glad that she was still with him.

"Rick!" he shouted one last time, his voice catching at the end. He looked up hoping to see someone, _anyone_ coming for them.

But there was nothing.

"Shit," he groaned, as the walkers started to amble towards them. He drew in a shaky breath and stood to his feet, leaving Carol where she was. If he was gonna protect her he'd need his hands free for this.

He dove for the closest, knifing it in the head quickly, and then taking out the second one just behind it. He felt his muscles quiver with the exertion of it, and he knew that he wasn't going to last long.

He turned to check on Carol and spotted two more walkers coming from the other side, and he went for them. And as his knife slid into the eye of the first walker, he felt his drive leave him. He was done.

He let the other walker advance on him, and pushed it away clumsily. His arms ached, _burned_.

And when it grabbed at him he thrust the knife through its chin, and then he fell to the ground with it. He was panting, and wheezing as he crawled away from the walker and back towards Carol. He slumped beside her, angling his body to hers.

"End a the road," he muttered hoarsely. He grabbed her limp hand, clutching at it tightly. If this was it, he wasn't goin' down without her.

"Dad!" He felt his heart jump in his chest as he glanced behind him. Carl was running toward him, and he had never been so fuckin' happy in his life to see the kid.

Carl crashed into the fence, fumbling with the keys in his hand. Daryl didn't even have the strength to say anything to Carl. He just leaned over to pull Carol into his arms once again, and pulled himself to his feet. The effort it took to do that worried him. He felt his body drag down on him, and Carol very nearly slipped from his grasp.

"Hurry up there," he whispered, feeling the last of this strength fade.

He heard the shouts of the others from afar as they came barreling out of the prison. First Rick came out shouting his name, and then Glenn behind him. The girls weren't far behind them either.

But it was all just a blur as the gate came crashing open and Carl grabbed him by the elbow, shuffling him in.

He was finally home.

He'd finally gotten them _home_.

"Daryl, _Daryl_," Rick kept saying, pulling at his arm, glancing between him and Carol. He didn't know what to say, or if he could. He was so _tired_. He just wanted to put Carol into his bed, and lie down with her.

"Oh my god, is she all right?" Maggie ran her hand across Carol's face, her mouth twisting down in a grimace. But he just kept walking. Wasn't that he wanted to ignore them - he just didn't have the strength to say anything.

"Take her to my father," Maggie said next to him, her face full of worry. It was clear by all of their worried looks that none of them would let him sleep. But it didn't matter. As long as Carol was still out-cold he wouldn't sleep. Not until he saw her eyes would he sleep.

"We're home," he murmured softly, letting his feet carry him the rest of the way.

**XXX**

Watching Hershel and Maggie _undress_ Carol was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do. There were things he'd gotten used to over the long winter months; like when he accidentally caught her coming out of a shower with only a towel, or when she'd been in the process of taking her shirt off and stood there in only her bra. Those were things he could escape from, and he'd be embarrassed and she'd playfully shrug it off.

But now? Now he had to watch as _everything _that she had endured was laid bare to him.

And he felt a fury build inside of him that he would never be able to repress.

He couldn't stop staring at the wound across her chest that went across her shoulder. It was a knife that had done that. He knew that. Knew first-hand what that pain was like. It was purposeful and clear. The Governor had sat in front of her, and pushed the blade into her skin and _dragged _it across her chest.

And then they were cutting off the right pant leg and he didn't get it. Until he _saw _it. The infected little bumps that littered her inner thigh. Something had been driven into her skin several times – something sharp and small.

He felt his body begin to tremble.

He couldn't stop staring at the bruising on her neck that had formed into the shape of a man's hands. Couldn't stop staring at the large circles of bruising on her stomach. Couldn't not _look _at the way her feet were raw, and red, and blistered.

And then Maggie carefully pushed her onto her side.

He swallowed hard; waiting, watching. He couldn't stop his hands from shaking, couldn't make himself breathe. He didn't want to know what had been done to her, he didn't want to _know_. To see her marked up, to see her body scarred forever like this hurt him more than any scars he would ever have to carry. He'd take _all _of her scars and he'd carry them. He'd carry them anywhere. He'd take them so she wouldn't have to.

Because Carol should never have to carry such things.

Everything was silent. He couldn't hear Hershel as he said something to Maggie and she slipped passed him to do whatever it was he asked. He didn't hear Rick come up beside him, watching him now.

No, all he could see were the angry, red slashes down her back. The slashes that went down her shoulder blades and to her hips. The same slashes that were covered in scratches; _nail _scratches. Nails that had dug across her shoulders, across her back, across her hips in arching motions. Nails that had dug _deep_ into her back and had marked her _forever_.

And the fucked up part about it?

He could see a shape to'em, a fuckin' pattern.

"No," he whimpered, takin' a step toward her, "No!" He rushed forward, but was suddenly gripped from behind.

"I'm gonna fuckin' kill'em!" There wasn't anything but Carol. He couldn't _see _anything but Carol. He couldn't see anything but _red_ and _Carol_.

He would hunt down the fuckin' monster that would ever put a fuckin' _mark_ on his woman. He would hunt down and _skin_ the thing that would ever _dare_ to touch the only thing alive that he had ever come to care about with all of his soul.

"Daryl, stop!" He whirled on the person holdin' him back, Rick, and grabbed him by the collar and hauled him back. He slammed him into the wall, and threw a punch.

Rick didn't even stop him. But Daryl's fist landed on the wall next to him, and he ran from the room before he did something stupid, the pulsing pain in his hand bringing him back to himself a little.

He ran before he had to look at the fuckin' _wings _on Carol's back one more time.

**XXX**

"Daddy," Maggie said hesitantly, holding the bandages to Carol's chest as he tied them up, "will she be all right?" Hershel didn't say anything as he contemplated Carol's wounds in his head. The extent of her wounds was deep, and her suffering had been long. There was no telling as to why she was unconscious. Her injuries were severe yes, but nothing that couldn't heal over _time_. He was sure that these were all things she could recover from. Carol was a strong woman; inside and out.

So what was keeping her asleep?

Did she suffer inside? Was she keeping herself under her coma? Did she know that right now, she was at home and safe? Did she know that right now Daryl had brought her home and he was waiting for her to wake up?

He shook his head in answer to his daughter's question. "I don't know sweetheart," he answered softly. "I don't know." And he didn't. And that was the worst feeling in the world. He didn't know how to wake Carol up, and he didn't know how to tell Daryl that.

Somehow, Carol would just have to wake up herself.

Maggie reached forward and placed her hand gently over her father's.

**XXX**

"You've gotta talk to him," Glenn said, pacing on the walkway. Rick didn't know what he should do. His friend was in pain, and because of the woman he loved. He was sure of that now. He was sure that Daryl loved Carol. Whether the man could see that himself or not, well that was another thing.

"Yeah, and what do I say to him?" Glenn paused, and stared out the fencing toward Daryl. He was pacing in the courtyard, crossbow in hand. Rick was sure that if he didn't say _something _Daryl would either run off to kill the Governor, or he would run away from them all.

"Tell him it's not his fault," Glenn said in a rush, throwing his arms up, "tell him she'll be okay." Rick grabbed Glenn by the arm and turned him about. He held his gaze forcefully, gripping his arm tight.

Glenn sighed.

"Shit," he muttered, running his free hand through his hair. "Shit. I know, I know." He started pacing again, free of Rick's grip.

"I know, okay. I know that's not the right thing to say. But did you see her?" He stopped to stare at Rick this time, his face a twisted mask of pain, and sadness. "She was…" he let his voice drift as he grabbed onto the chain-link fence and stared out into the courtyard at Daryl.

"I can't even imagine what he's going through," he whispered, letting his head rest against the fence, closing his eyes.

"And I don't understand why she's not waking up," he voiced, confusion clear across his features. "Shouldn't she be awake, or at least waking up?"

Rick had wondered the same thing, but he didn't know what had gone out there. The only one who did was Daryl.

**XXX**

He was gonna _kill _that motherless bastard _after_ he skinned him alive. But not before he cut out his other eye and pulled out each of his teeth, one – by – one.

He was gonna make that sonuvabitch _suffer_. He was gonna make him suffer just like he'd made Carol suffer.

He couldn't believe what he'd done to her – to her _back_. He couldn't get the image of her red, slashed up back out of his head. Every time he blinked he saw it. These fuckin' angry, bloody wings just burned into her back.

**Yer a fuckin' useless boy.**

She'd never be able to get rid of them. She'd never be able to forget what had been done to her. _He _knew what that was like, _he _knew what it was like to never forget the pain of that.

**Nobody will ever **_**love **_**ya. **

And he had never wanted _her _to know that.

_**Nobody**_**.**

He felt his eyes burn, and he brushed at them quickly, stuffing that shit down. He wasn't gonna do that – let his ol' man come round here and try to taunt him. Just like he used to do. Just like he'd _always _done. His ol' man had always made sure that he knew that _no one _would ever love him. Not no one, not nobody. He'd made sure a that by makin' him _ugly_, and _broken_.

"Fuck you," he muttered under his breath, pushin' the voice of his ol' man away, pushin' him so far back that he wouldn't be able to _ever _come back. He wasn't gonna cry, not like some fuckin' pussy. He wasn't gonna be weak. He wasn't gonna let some used up, weak ol' sonuvabitch push him around. Not when he had to keep his shit together.

Not when Carol needed him.

"Daryl." He didn't even bother to turn to Rick. He just kept walkin'. He couldn't stop, needed to keep movin'. If he stopped, he wouldn't be able to get up again.

"Daryl," he tried again, and this time he did turn around.

"The fuck you want?" he barked. Rick held up a hand, looking away.

"Just wanted to talk to you," he said slowly. Daryl thought about it for a moment, watching Rick, and didn't care. He just started pacing again. Pacing felt good.

"Can you tell me," he started, shifting on his feet, hands goin' in his pockets. Daryl stopped, watching him from the corner of his eye.

"Can you tell me why she won't wake up?" Daryl felt himself tip. She'd been unconscious the whole way back. Not once had she opened her eyes since she'd…

"_Daryl…" he kept running, because he knew that she needed help. There was blood on his hands, blood on her face, blood _everywhere_. He'd never seen so much blood on her before, and never so much of it hers. It fuckin' _scared _him. _

_He didn't want to stop, not when it could mean her life, and not when there was the possibility of the Governor comin' after them. _

_He just grunted and kept running. _

"_Find…" she said even softer than before. It was the way her voice drifted, the way her grip loosened from his jacket. It sent a sliver of panic through him. _

_He slowed down, stopped and looked down at her. _

"_What?" Her eyes fluttered, as her arm fell to her side, dangling next to her. He waited for her to say something, _anything _else. But she didn't. She lay still in his arms; quiet, unmoving. _

"_Carol?" He shook her gently, trying to wake her up, trying to rouse her. But nothing happened. _

"_Carol?!" He dropped to his knees, pulling his arm from underneath her legs and cupped her cheek. She didn't even register his touch. She was just _there_. _

"_Goddammit Carol," he muttered hoarsely, shaking her shoulder. He dropped his ear to her chest, and felt a wave of relief rush through him. Her heart still beat steadily. _

"_Why?" he moaned, his arm curling around her tighter. What had he done wrong? What hadn't he done _right?

_He needed her right now, needed her with him now. He couldn't be alone again. _

'_Wake up!" he screamed, spit flying. She didn't blink, didn't flinch. Didn't move at all. He didn't know what had happened, didn't know what he was supposed to do, didn't know what the fuck he was supposed to do. _

_He just wanted Carol _here_, with him. _

"_Wake up," he cried out, rocking her in his arms. _

He felt his stomach clench, and chest burn. He thought he had lost her then, thought she wasn't going to wake up ever. "She just fell into this…" he didn't know what it was.

"Coma?" Rick suggested. He looked up, connecting with Rick's gaze. He nodded.

But that word, _coma_, made him feel _wrong_. He didn't like the way it settled in his stomach and churned there. Didn't like the way it made him feel _powerless_.

There weren't no way he were gonna sit around and wait for Carol to wake up out of some goddamn _coma_. Something had to be done.

There had to be _something_.

**XXX**

"When the hell is she gonna wake up?" He didn't like the way Hershel kept staring at her body as if there weren't nothin' left he could do. Rick hovered at his side, eyes watchin' him, Glenn doin' the same. They were like fuckin' flies; annoyin' the shit outta him.

"Why ain't ya doin' nothin' else to _wake her up_?!" He reached for the vet, but Rick and Glenn grabbed him by the arms holding him back. Hershel didn't even flinch. Just kept staring down at her, lookin' for all the world like he'd lost her already.

"I've done all I can for her son," he remarked slowly, standing up. He looked him in the eyes, and reached out to clasp him on the shoulder, squeezing tight. "It's up to her to wake up now."

Daryl wouldn't, _couldn't _accept that.

"No, NO!" he thrashed free of their arms and ran from the cell, ran from the pity on their faces, ran from the pain that was threatening to swallow him whole.

"Daryl!" Rick called from behind him. But he didn't listen, didn't turn. He couldn't face her, not when she wasn't wakin' up. Not when she was dyin' inside a little every moment. Not when he couldn't do nothin' to stop that.

He ran from everything he couldn't face.

**XXX**

Rick found Daryl sitting outside the walls by the fence, baiting the walkers. His knees were drawn to his chest, and he was playing with something in his hands that he couldn't see.

He took a breath, trying to find the right words to say, _anything_ that would make this all right to say to his friend; but found nothing. He exhaled and approached him.

He knew Daryl had heard him from the way his head looked up for a moment. But Daryl never said anything as he continued to stare out beyond the fence.

Rick sat next to him, drawing his knees up, holding them with his arms. The walkers pushed, and thrashed against the fence; their faces rotted and grey, their eyes lifeless and empty.

He didn't say anything. Just decided to sit. He figured out that sometimes that was all Daryl needed; the company of others without the forced burden of making it social.

Sometimes you just had to wait until _he _talked.

Rick looked over finally, and saw that Daryl was playing with a necklace; a little gold chain with a cross at the end. His brows drew down, and he didn't know where the hell Daryl had gotten such a thing or why he was fidgeting with it.

And then it dawned on him; it was Carol's. Before they had found the prison, before the long winter months had ended, it had been Carol's. But when had it transferred from Daryl to Carol?

Rick could have sworn that she had thrown the necklace away. He could have sworn that she had abandoned it, like she had her beliefs.

"It was Carol's," Daryl said suddenly, sounding like a small child. He held the necklace up, glinting in the sunlight.

"She doesn't know I have it," he murmured quietly. And there it was. The small things about Daryl that you never really knew unless he revealed them to you. He'd kept that necklace, for all this time, and for what?

Because of Carol.

Because Daryl really did love Carol. And right now, his woman was in there, lying on that bed; broken, and she wasn't waking up. And Daryl didn't know how to respond to that.

"Maybe you should tell her," he responded, hoping he wasn't saying the wrong thing, but knowing that Daryl needed someone to talk to; needed someone to help him.

Daryl looked up at him, clutching the cross in his fist, and clenched his jaw.

"She can't _hear_ me," he forced out between his teeth, pulling back on all the hard emotions he was trying to keep down. Rick could see how hard this was for him. And he knew that he never wanted his friend to face the death of the woman he loved.

He looked up, between the chain-links of the fence and caught the flicker of white between the trees. He blinked and it was gone.

"You don't know that," he argued, finding Daryl's gaze again. He grabbed hold of his shoulder, and leaned in. "_You don't know_." Daryl studied him, eyes flicking back and forth, and then he looked away, back down at the necklace in his hands.

"Ya think…" he let the cross lay flat in his palm as he stared at it. "Ya think she'll hear me?"

Rick squeezed his shoulder. "I think you just need to talk to her."

**XXX**

It was embarrassing really. The more he thought on it, the more he was scared to do it.

_Pussy_, he thought to himself. He could just hear Merle tauntin' him, makin' fun of him. He'd come in here, after Rick had cleared everyone out for him, just to talk to her.

And now he was gonna back out?

But the more he looked at her, just lyin' there, her chest wrapped all the way around. White bandages coverin' her knuckles, and her feet wrapped up real good; he couldn't look at her. Couldn't look at all the pain and the hurt she'd had to suffer. He'd fuckin' kill that Governor if it'd be the last he'd ever do. He'd do it for _her_.

But he couldn't leave her here like this, knowing she wasn't awake yet. He couldn't _leave._

He took a step forward, hesitant, fingering the necklace in one hand.

"Don't know what to say," he mumbled. He watched the steady rise and fall of her chest, the way her eyes flickered in sleep.

His feet carried him over to her where he dropped onto the bed at her side, softly. She didn't stir, even as he shifted closer to her and his hip rested against her arm.

He _wanted _her to wake up. He wanted those eyes to open and look at him with everything he'd ever denied.

"Carol," he said, reaching out hesitantly to touch her arm. When his fingers grazed over her, and she didn't move, didn't stir at his touch like she normally did, he felt his heart deflate.

His head dropped, and his shoulders hunched. His fingers curled around her arm, his thumb running against her skin gently. "I ain't never been good at talkin'," he confessed, but he knew she already knew that.

"Ya always did that for us," he continued quietly, still caressing her arm.

He didn't know what to say as he let silence fall between them. He didn't know what to say but what was in his heart. And he'd never been good at admitting those feelings.

"I need ya to wake up," he begged, bending toward her, letting the chain fall to the bed at her side. He clutched at her hand, careful to be gentle with her wounds.

"_Please_," he pleaded, dropping his forehead to her shoulder, listening to her steady breathing. "Please wake up."

Why did everyone have to leave him? Why was it that when he was just starting to care, when he was just starting to _love _that everybody left him? Nobody ever stayed for long. Nobody ever stayed for _him_.

That's why he never let nobody in. He was sick and fuckin' tired of bein' hurt. He was sick of _his _heart bein' the only thing that got hurt.

"Don't you leave me too," he choked out, feeling the tears slip down his cheeks. He couldn't remember the last time he'd cried for _anybody_. He'd never cried for his ol' man. Never cried for Merle. Never even cried for his Ma.

"Sophia…" He looked up, gripping her hand hard. He couldn't remember when she'd last talked about Sophia. He couldn't remember the last time they'd even mentioned her name.

Why the hell would she be callin' out her name now, while she was sleepin'?

Panic struck him in the chest like one of his ol' man's punches.

Sophia was dead. She was _dead_. The only reason Carol had to be talking to Sophia was because-

"Wake up," he cried out, cupping her cheek in his hand. He leaned down, touching their foreheads together, his tears falling to her cheeks.

"God_dammit _Carol, wake up," he begged, closing his eyes.

"_Wake up,_" he whispered.

**XXX**

"You have to go." No she didn't. She wouldn't. She _couldn't_. Not after everything that he had done for her. All the times he had protected her, after he had searched for Sophia, after he had taught her how to protect herself. He'd kept her alive all this time and now look what had happened.

He was gone.

"Mom." She ignored her, curling tighter into Daryl's side. She didn't want to go, didn't want to leave him. He was all she had left now, the only thing that had _really _mattered in the world. She wouldn't listen to that voice that _wasn't _really there.

She couldn't do that either.

"He's gone Mom," she said quietly. She shook her head, burying her face into his side, inhaling the scent of the leather. She didn't want to _lose _that.

"I can't leave him," she moaned, the tears falling down her cheeks. He still hadn't stirred, and she kept waiting for his body to start twitching with the new awakening. She kept waiting for him to become a _walker_.

She had to see it, had to see his eyes. Once she saw the color as anything other than his blue she'd know it was time for her to go as well.

"Yes you can," she said with more conviction this time. She didn't want to turn around and see _her _either; Sophia.

Because that's whose voice was behind her. Her daughter. The one thing she had cared for above all others before the world had gone to _shit_. The one thing that had saved her time and again when she had thought Ed was going to _kill _her. The one thing that had lit up her world when all she had seen was darkness.

"He's all I have left now," Carol whispered, clutching at his jacket tightly. She didn't want to let him go, not yet.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and flinched. She was too scared to turn and look.

What if she saw the face of the walker again? What if it wasn't her daughter she saw looking back at her?

"I know Mom," she said, with so much understanding that Carol couldn't help but turn. And there was Sophia, clean, and brown-eyed. Older too.

She couldn't help but reach out to touch her cheek. How she had _missed_ Sophia, so much.

"Sophia," she said softly, confused but so glad to see her. Sophia nodded, her blonde locks falling across her cheeks. Sophia reached out, cupping her mother's cheek.

"You have to go back Mom." Carol shook her head confused, afraid. She didn't know what Sophia wanted from her, but she wasn't _ready _to leave Daryl yet. She'd already lost one person in her life, and she wasn't ready to lose the only other one she had left.

"I know you love him," she said, eyes sparkling mischievously, "and he needs you." Confusion gripped her hard. She didn't know what Sophia was talking about.

"I miss you," Sophia said, the tears suddenly glistening in her eyes, as the words stuck in her throat, "but I'm not ready to see you yet. I want to see you _live_." Carol rolled onto her back, and grabbed onto Sophia's arm, running her hand through her hair.

"Sophia," she crooned.

"Wake up Mom," she murmured, bending low to hug her, wrapping her arms around her in a feather light hug. Carol felt her chest ache suddenly, and her back flared in pain. She curled in her toes as the skin on her feet tightened painfully.

But it was the warmth of the body next to her that she gravitated towards.

"_Wake up_."

**XXX**

When he opened his eyes, he was lying on the bed next to her, his back to the door. He panicked for a moment. He never left his back to the door, _ever_. He could remember all the times his ol' man had come in through the door and had knocked the wind out of him. Or the time he'd dragged him out a the bed just to carve another mark onto him. Or the time he'd choked him in his sleep.

All because he'd fallen asleep with his back to the door. He'd never let that happen again.

And _then _his eyes found hers. She was laying still, body curled into his, head on his arm. His other arm was draped over her waist as her hands fisted in his shirt. He didn't know _when _that had happened, or _how._ He wasn't too sure it mattered to him either. Because her blue eyes stared into his, wide and clear. She was _awake_. She was fucking _awake_.

"Carol-"

And then she leaned forward, cutting him off, to press her lips softly, _gently_ to his. His eyes went wide in surprise, as her arm shifted around his waist, under his arm. She gripped the back of his shirt desperately, pulling her body closer to his.

When he felt her chest rest against his and her heart beating hard, his eyes closed and his lips softened against hers. He reached up to press his hand against her back, feeling the bandages there, knowing _what _was there, and slipped his hand down further across her shoulder blades; caressing her like she was the most fragile thing he had to break. And right now, she was. She was fragile, and hurt, and she was here in his arms right now kissing him.

He wasn't going to let any of that go.

Her breath shuddered across his cheeks and she pulled away, running her cheek across his to bury her face in the crook of his neck.

"You're here," she breathed, burrowing into him deeper. He didn't want to let her go. Didn't want to understand why he suddenly couldn't let her go, or why he had to keep his arms wrapped so firmly around her.

All he knew was that he didn't want to let her go.

"Yer awake," he breathed, pulling her tighter against him, careful of her back. Always careful. She shuddered against him.

"Sophia," she murmured, her breath washing against his skin, making him shiver. He ran a hand through her hair, and couldn't help but kiss her neck, right where her jugular vein was.

She would never know just how happy he was that she was _alive. _She turned to look up at him, her eyes shining with tears.

"Sophia told me you were waiting," she admitted, biting her bottom lip. He watched her for a moment, thinking back on the little girl he had tried so desperately to save.

"She told you?" Carol nodded, eyes wary. He chewed his bottom lip. She looked scared to tell him that, like he would think she were crazy for dreaming up her little girl. But no one had ever known just how many times he'd dreamed up Merle.

No one had ever known how many times Merle had _saved _him in those dreams.

He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, and then her eyes, and then he found her lips again. Soft, _tender_. He had always wanted to know just what it was like to kiss her. He felt her hand clutch desperately at him, shaking, and the tears slide down her cheeks against his. He pulled away, and wiped at her tears.

"Gonna have to tell her I owe her one," he said softly. And for a moment, he thought he'd said the wrong thing. But then she laughed, and started crying again, and closed her eyes as she rested her head against his.

"Maybe later," she said, and buried herself against him, buried herself _into _his arms. Like she never wanted to leave him. Like she wanted to bury herself under his skin.

He grunted his agreement. He wasn't letting her go, _ever_.

* * *

**A/N**: The **unconscious Daryl death** **scene** was, in part, inspired by _witnesstoitall_'s story Beyond Help. I have no original claim to such a thing. I would _highly recommend_ taking a trip over to her page, and checking her things out. She'll love you for doing so. And Sophia made an appearance here because I believe that Caryl would be nothing without her. Thank you so much for reading this you guys. You don't know how much I love you for that.

I've been giving some thought to if this is _completed _or not. I don't know. You're reviews would be graciously loved.


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